From His Wife to His Uncle's Wife novel Chapter 212

Eleanor lay still on the bed, barely daring to move. The bright sheets beneath her made her feel flushed, her skin tingling with heat. From the bathroom came the gentle sound of running water, and her mind spun in circles as she tried to come up with a way to say no to Max. Tonight had happened so fast. She wasn’t even close to ready. Every muscle in her body was wound tight with nerves.

Then came the soft sound of the bathroom door unlocking. Warm, damp air drifted into the room, carrying the fresh scent of Max’s body wash and a faint touch of woodsy cologne. It filled her senses.

Eleanor kept her eyes shut tight and lay flat on her back, hands hidden under the covers, clinging to the sheets. She felt the bed dip as Max settled in next to her, close enough that she didn’t need to open her eyes to know he was there.

Max looked over at her, amused by her obvious attempt to fake sleep. The shadows of her long lashes danced across her pale skin, and he could see the way she trembled just a little. He knew she was nervous. What she didn’t realize was that he was, too.

His eyes softened with affection as he reached out and gently brushed her hair. Then she felt the lightest touch on her lips, warm and soft, and his deep voice whispered in her ear, “Goodnight, Mrs. Clarkson.”

A kiss, barely there—so much gentler than the one he’d given her when they’d signed their marriage license. Bit by bit, the tension eased from Eleanor’s body. She found herself thinking that maybe this bold leap wasn’t so crazy after all. Being married to Max didn’t seem nearly as scary as she’d imagined.

The next morning, sunlight poured through the window, pulling Eleanor from sleep. She jolted upright and grabbed her phone from under the pillow—just seven o’clock. Relief washed over her. For a second, she’d thought she’d overslept.

She looked around, taking in the room. It felt both new and familiar. It was the first time she’d stayed here as its mistress, but she recognized the soft decorations she’d picked out herself. For a moment, she felt lost in it all.

Her eyes drifted to the empty spot on the bed beside her. Did Max always get up so early?

Moving carefully, Eleanor slipped out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. Waiting for her on the counter were a new towel and toothbrush. Max must have known she hadn’t brought her own things yet. As she brushed her teeth, she couldn’t help but think—he really was thoughtful.

Once she was ready, Eleanor pulled on the clothes she’d packed the day before, added a touch of makeup, and opened the bedroom door. Instantly, a delicious smell greeted her.

Max was in the kitchen, apron tied around his waist, spatula in hand. When he saw her, he smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“There are sandwiches on the table,” he said. “I made some ham and chicken, almost done.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Max’s eyes narrowed just a bit. His voice left no room for argument. “Don’t worry. I’ll drop you off near the office. No one will know you came with me.”

Eleanor hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you.”

Max, already dressed in his suit and fixing his tie, paused. He walked slowly over to her by the door. Before she could react, she found herself in his shadow, and then his lips were on hers.

This kiss was nothing like the quick peck from their wedding. There was a fierceness to it, and beneath it all, that same subtle scent of wood and spice. Just as Eleanor started to melt into it, Max pulled away.

He smiled, just a hint of it on his lips. “Mrs. Clarkson, we’re married. You don’t have to thank me for everything.”

He leaned in, voice low. “And if you forget, I’ll just have to remind you—with a kiss.”